The intelligible forms of ancient poets,The fair humanities of old religion,The power, the beauty, and the majestyThat had their haunts in dale or piny mountain,Or forest by slow stream, or pebbly spring,Or chasms and watery depths,all these have vanished;They live no longer in the faith of reason.

An instinctive taste teaches men to build their churches in flat countries, with spire steeples, which, as they cannot be referred to any other object, point as with silent finger to the sky and star.4